Death Valley

2022·9 MB·English

by  Larry W Jones

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Death Valley
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This is a biographical work
based on the public domain book
“Death Valley In ‘49”
by William Lewis Manly
with edits, notes, images and arrangement
by Larry W Jones
Copyright 2022 © by Larry W Jones
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced
or used in any manner without written permission of the
copyright owner except for quotations in a book review.
First edition – 2022
Book design by Larry W Jones
Published by lulu.com
ISBN – 978-1-716-01546-5
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THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A PIONEER, DETAILING HIS
LIFE FROM A HUMBLE HOME IN THE GREEN MOUNTAINS
TO THE GOLD MINES OF CALIFORNIA.
AND PARTICULARLY RECITING THE SUFFERINGS OF THE
BAND OF MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN WHO GAVE
"DEATH VALLEY" ITS NAME.
CONTENTS
Page 6 CHAPTER I. Birth, Parentage.
Page 9 CHAPTER II. The Western Fever.
Page 13 CHAPTER III. At Detroit and Westward.
Page 16 CHAPTER IV. The Lost Filley Boy.
Page 18 CHAPTER V. Sickness.
Page 31 CHAPTER VI. Wisconsin —Dressed Winter Hunting
Page 39 CHAPTER VII. Lead Mining.— Gold in California.
Page 55 CHAPTER VIII. Floating down the River.
Page 80 CHAPTER IX. The Southern Route.
Page 108 CHAPTER X. A Long, Narrow Valley.
Page 163 CHAPTER XI. Struggling Along.
Page 209 CHAPTER XII. On To The Mines.
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Chapter I. - BIrth, parentage
St. Albans, Vermont is near the eastern shore of Lake Champlain, and
only a short distance south of "Five-and-forty north degrees" which
separates the United States from Canada, and some sixty or seventy
miles from the great St. Lawrence River and the city of Montreal. Near
here it was, on April 6th, 1820, I was born, so the record says, and from
this point with wondering eyes of childhood I looked across the waters
of the narrow lake to the slopes of the Adirondack mountains in New
York, green as the hills of my own Green Mountain State.
The parents of my father were English people and lived near Hartford,
Connecticut, where he was born. While still a little boy he came with
his parents to Vermont. My mother's maiden name was Phoebe
Calkins, born near St. Albans of Welch parents, and, being left an
orphan while yet in very tender years, she was given away to be reared
by people who provided food and clothes, but permitted her to grow up
to womanhood without knowing how to read or write. After her
marriage she learned to do both, and acquired the rudiments of an
education.
Grandfather and his boys, four in all, fairly carved a farm out of the big
forest that covered the cold rocky hills. Giant work it was for them in
such heavy timber—pine, hemlock, maple, beech and birch—the
clearing of a single acre being a man's work for a year. The place where
the maples were thickest was reserved for a sugar grove, and from it
was made all of the sweet material they needed, and some besides.
Economy of the very strictest kind had to be used in every direction.
Main strength and muscle were the only things dispensed in plenty.
The crops raised consisted of a small flint corn, rye oats, potatoes and
turnips. Three cows, ten or twelve sheep, a few pigs and a yoke of
strong oxen comprised the live stock—horses, they had none for many
years.
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A great ox-cart was the only wheeled vehicle on the place, and this, in
winter, gave place to a heavy sled, the runners cut from a tree having a
natural crook and roughly, but strongly, made.
In summer there were plenty of strawberries, raspberries,
whortleberries and blackberries growing wild, but all the cultivated
fruit was apples. As these ripened many were peeled by hand, cut in
quarters, strung on long strings of twine and dried before the kitchen
fire for winter use. They had a way of burying up some of the best
keepers in the ground, and opening the apple hole was quite an event
of early spring.
The children were taught to work as soon as large enough. I remember
they furnished me with a little wooden fork to spread the heavy swath
of grass my father cut with easy swings of the scythe, and when it was
dry and being loaded on the great ox-cart I followed closely with a rake
gathering every scattering spear. The barn was built so that every
animal was housed comfortably in winter, and the house was such as
all settlers built, not considered handsome, but capable of being made
very warm in winter and the great piles of hard wood in the yard
enough to last as fuel for a year, not only helped to clear the land, but
kept us comfortable.
Mother and the girls washed, carded, spun, and wove the wool from
our own sheep into good strong cloth. Thus, by the labor of both men
and women, we were clothed. If an extra fine Sunday dress was
desired, part of the yarn was colored and from this they managed to get
up a very nice plaid goods for the purpose.
In clearing the land the hemlock bark was peeled and traded off at the
tannery for leather, or used to pay for tanning and dressing the hide of
an ox or cow which they managed to fat and kill about every year.
Stores for the family were either made by a neighboring shoe-maker, or
by a traveling one who went from house to house, making up a supply
for the family—whipping the cat, they called it then. They paid him in
something or other produced upon the farm, and no money was asked
or expected.
The school was taught in winter by a man named Bowen, who managed
forty scholars and considered sixteen dollars a month, boarding
himself, was pretty fair pay. In summer some smart girl would teach
the small scholars and board round among the families.
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I have very pleasant recollections of the neighborhood cider mill. There
were two rollers formed of logs carefully rounded and four or five feet
long, set closely together in an upright position in a rough frame, a long
crooked sweep coming from one of them to which a horse was hitched
and pulled it round and round. One roller had mortices in it, and
projecting wooden teeth on the other fitted into these, so that, as they
both slowly turned together, the apples were crushed.
A huge
box of
coarse
slats,
notched
and
locked
together
at the
corners,
held a
vast pile
of the
crushed
apples
while
clean rye
straw was
added to
strain the
flowing
juice and keep the cheese from spreading too much; then the
ponderous screw and streams of delicious cider. Sucking cider through
a long rye straw inserted in the bung-hole of a barrel was just the best
of fun, and cider taken that way "awful" good while it was new and
sweet.
The winter ashes, made from burning so much fuel and gathered from
the brush-heaps and log-heaps, were carefully saved and traded with
the potash men for potash or sold for a small price. Nearly every one
went barefoot in summer, and in winter wore heavy leather moccasins
made by the Canadian French who lived near by.
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Chapter II. the Western Fever
About 1828 people began to talk about the far West. Ohio was the place
we heard most about, and the most we knew was, that it was a long way
off and no way to get there except over a long and tedious road, with
oxen or horses and a cart or wagon. More than one got the Western
fever, as they called it, my uncle James Webster and my father among
the rest, when they heard some traveler tell about the fine country he
had seen; so they sold their farms and decided to go to Ohio, Uncle
James was to go ahead, in the fall of 1829 and get a farm to rent, if he
could, and father and his family were to come on the next spring.
Uncle fitted out with two good horses and a wagon; goods were packed
in a large box made to fit, and under the wagon seat was the
commissary chest for food and bedding for daily use, all snugly
arranged. Father had, shortly before, bought a fine Morgan mare and a
light wagon which served as a family carriage, having wooden axles and
a seat arranged on wooden springs, and they finally decided they would
let me take the horse and wagon and go on with uncle, and father and
mother would come by water, either by way of the St. Lawrence river
and the lakes or by way of the new canal recently built, which would
take them as far as Buffalo.
So they loaded up the little wagon with some of the mentioned things
and articles in the house, among which I remember a fine brass kettle,
considered almost indispensable in housekeeping. There was a good lot
of bedding and blankets, and a quilt nicely folded was placed on the
spring seat as a cushion.
As may be imagined I was the object of a great deal of attention about
this time, for a boy not yet ten years old just setting out into a region
almost unknown was a little unusual. When I was ready they all
gathered round to say good bye and my good mother seemed most
concerned. She said—"Now you must be a good boy till we come in the
spring. Mind uncle and aunt and take good care of the horse, and
remember us. May Jehovah protect you."
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She embraced me and kissed me and held me till she was exhausted.
Then they lifted me up into the spring seat, put the lines in my hand
and handed me my little whip with a leather strip for a lash. Just at the
last moment father handed me a purse containing about a dollar, all in
copper cents—pennies we called them then. Uncle had started on they
had kept me so long, but I started up and they all followed me along the
road for a mile or so before we finally separated and they turned back.
They waved hats and handkerchiefs till out of sight as they returned,
and I wondered if we should ever meet again.
I was up with uncle very soon and we rolled down through St. Albans
and took our road southerly along in sight of Lake Champlain. Uncle
and aunt often looked back to talk to me, "See what a nice cornfield!"
or, "What nice apples on those trees," seeming to think they must do all
they could to cheer me up, that I might not think too much of the
playmates and home I was leaving behind. I had never driven very far
before, but I found the horse knew more than I did how to get around
the big stones and stumps that were found in the road, so that as long
as I held the lines and the whip in hand I was an excellent driver.
We had made plans and preparations to board ourselves on the
journey. We always stopped at the farm houses over night, and they
were so hospitable that they gave us all we wanted free. Our supper was
generally of bread and milk, the latter always furnished gratuitously,
and I do not recollect that we were ever turned away from any house
where we asked shelter. There were no hotels, or taverns as they called
them, outside of the towns.
In due time we reached Whitehall, at the head of Lake Champlain, and
the big box in Uncle's wagon proved so heavy over the muddy roads
that he put it in a canal boat to be sent on to Cleveland, and we found it
much easier after this for there were too many mud-holes, stumps and
stones and log bridges for so heavy a load as he had. Our road many
times after this led along near the canal, the Champlain or the Erie, and
I had a chance to see something of the canal boys' life. The boy who
drove the horses that drew the packet boat was a well dressed fellow
and always rode at a full trot or a gallop, but the freight driver was
generally ragged and barefoot, and walked when it was too cold to ride,
threw stones or clubs at his team, and cursed and abused the packet-
boy who passed as long as he was in hearing. Reared as I had been I
thought it was a pretty wicked part of the world we were coming to.